The Bridge of Sighs
by ladyxenax
Summary: Post-Gluhen. Schwarz hide in the old Palace that used to belong to the Crawford family. Oracle is losing his mind, and the German gets a new power. Pairing: BSR
1. 1

Title: The Bridge of Sighs

Author: lady xenax

Fandom: Weiss Kreuz

Category: yaoi

Pairing: Crawford/Schuldig/Ran

Summary: Post-Gluhen. Schwarz hide in the old Palace that used to belong to the Crawford family. Oracle is losing his mind, and the German gets a new power

Rating: R

Genre: horror

Warning: AU, Gluhen spoilers

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, though I wouldn't mind having Crawford at my full disposal… for a week at least

**1**

"You're pathetic, Fujimiya."

Aya raised his head, holding on to a post box with one hand and clenching the wound on his chest with the other. His fingers felt the wet warmth of blood. There was no pain, only a grey fog inside and outside. The fog hid the damp street - it had rained recently, - dimmed the silhouettes of passers-by who hurried shopping, caught in the Christmas fever.

The weather was too mild even for the New York winter, Aya thought like a native citizen of the Big Apple. But why did it interest him?

"Yup, you're not interested in anything, right Fujimiya?"

A familiar laugh and a drawling intonation. Aya blinked, trying to discern the German.

"You don't look well, redhead. Been in a mess…" The Japanese's last words were lost in a coughing fit.

Somebody seemed to have cleared the steamy glass. The redhead stepped out of the fog. The German's figure acquired a surprising transparency.

It was nice that he had gotten rid of his great overcoat. Very jazzy…

"Do you think your orange sweater was better?"

In spite of an expensive Armani leather coat and designer pants the telepath had lost his former sadistic superiority. His handsome face looked more like a pale mask, and his eyes concealed despair and feverish excitement. A strand of wet hair stuck to his cheek.

"I forgot to take my umbrella, can you believe it? Fucking rain…"

Schuldig squatted next to Ran who didn't have enough strength to get up from the cold pavement. The Japanese knew he was dying and treated this fate calmly. If only the telepath turned out to be a joke of his imagination.

"You wish. I've been looking for you for a while…" The German touched Ran's hot forehead. He felt the tremor of the wounded man. "For a long time… Too long to let you die from the knife of some street punk."

"Leave me alone… Find someone else to torment… Let me die in peace…"

Aya closed his eyes wearily. He let his left hand hang helplessly. The hotness of blood enveloped him. His head was spinning. He felt no pain.

"You did…" he suffocated.

Schuldig nodded.

"I don't need your… pity… get lost…"

The German's lips curved in a faint smirk. He swept his fingers across the red spots on Aya's vest.

"Sick Nazi… bastard…"

Schuldig licked his blood-stained finger. Tasted like blood, he thought.

"I love you too," said the telepath, rising to his feet. "It wasn't my idea. Damn you Crawford! As if I don't have to deal with your fits, now I'm supposed to take care of this stray cat."

His red BMW stood several meters away. Crawford asked him once, why he had begun to take an interest in German cars as soon as they had moved to America. Schuldig only shrugged. One couldn't choose cars, just like authorities. Circumstances bound with either of them.

"Let's go, kätzchen. You're heavy…"

The German lifted Ran. He was panting and could only drag his feet a little.

Drowned in the endless paleness… Schiller would think of such a phrase if he had had a chance of seeing Ran.

Schuldig loaded the semi-conscious Japanese inside. It took a lot of his effort. The telepath was angry at his powerlessness. A year ago he could have easily carried the kätzchen in his arms and reached a hospital on foot. Now he wasn't able to lug him for a couple of meters without gasping.

Yes, those were the remnants of Schwarz… Brad was losing his sanity and the telepath was losing his powers.

"You'd better not dirty the cabin. I'll kill you and tell Crawford I didn't find you."

Schuldig took a quick glance at the shapeless bloody mass that used to be called Abyssinian. Finished? The telepath checked if the Japanese was still alive.

He had to get to a hospital. He didn't like to leave Crawford alone for such a long time. Brad was OK, but to be on the safe side…

Have you found him?

Crawford's mind turned out to be strange. Being forewarned about his insanity, Crawford allowed Schuldig to control him from time to time.

Yes, but I was late. The kätzchen had been stabbed and I'm driving him to the hospital.

He mustn't die. And don't tease him more than you need to.

Yes, sir! Schuldig saluted.

Something unnatural was inside the American, something so alien that Schuldig ignored it most of the time, expecting new changes in Brad's behavior.

Frankly speaking, the telepath had never been more scared in his life.

Sick weather got on his nerves. It started raining again.

The emergency room was unusually quiet. A pretty nurse was having a cat-nap at the reception desk. The air stank of old blood and medicines. A black janitor was swabbing down the floor and humming something.

A young doctor, ugly-looking brunette with a big mouth, sauntered from around the corner. He froze at the site of an odd couple – a thin guy with red hair was dragging an Asian whose jacket was covered with blood.

- Move your ass, baka!

The doctor could swear that the redhead's mouth remained scornfully pursed.

Orderlies materialized with stretchers in a second. The doctor started to give orders in a professional voice.

Schuldig came up to the pretty nurse to fill in the papers. He easily faked the handwriting and information. Having signed in Ran under a made-up name, the German smiled to the blonde and walked down the hall.

He didn't like hospitals. It didn't matter to him that such places were perfect to play with people's thoughts. He just despised the very surroundings. Suffering made him sick.

There was a kid in the nearest ward. He was crying from terrible pain, he had broken his arm. Schuldig winced from the unpleasant sounds but stopped nevertheless. The boy had red hair similar to his. A cute thing. When a nurse injected him with painkillers, the kid relaxed.

The kid's parents stood outside the door to the ward. The man was soothing his crying wife.

Schuldig carefully touched their minds. One and the same picture kept on going in the woman's thoughts – she's screaming at her son, he's standing in front of her, terrified; she's hitting him in his face, he's leaning backwards and falling down the stairs.

The telepath obligingly showed her the image of her son lying on his back with a broken neck. The woman threw a fit.

What a bitch, Schuldig thought and went further down the corridor.

Some dying old men occupied the neighboring wards. Their thoughts were bitter. Schuldig drank them, trying to ease his pain. Panic seized him and he almost ran to the ward where Ran had been taken to.

Seeing the approaching German the doctor looked up from the papers.

"What's your relation to the patient?"

"I'm his lover," Schuldig said, smirking.

The doctor swallowed such an obvious lie. "He's lost a lot of blood, but his condition's stable now. He has to stay here for a couple of days."

"Can I see him?"

"Yes, but not for long."

It was pathetic to see the fearless ex-leader of Weiss in a hospital bed. His chest was heaving, his eyelashes were trembling as he was dreaming. His tired face had acquired almost divine beauty.

Schuldig stepped closer. He wondered what dream was tormenting Ran now. The telepath caught the glimpses of Abyssinian's memories about past fights. Ridiculous! After all these years he still believed in something…

"Did you want redemption?" Schuldig said aloud. "Did you think you'd get peace in hell? Jerk…"

He touched Ran's hand and winced from an unwelcoming sympathy. He had become too soft. Why should he pity Abyssinian? The kid had chosen his own path.

Schuldig?

Brad?

Come back.

I'll bring him tomorrow, he's still weak.

Come back, I need you.

As usual. When he left the Palace for short periods of time Crawford always found excuses to call him back earlier than was necessary. Schuldig was ready to howl from despair. He didn't want to come back to that shadow cell.

Crawford had also turned into a shadow of his former self. He almost never left home. When Brad dared to step outside the Palace's gate – a week after their arrival – a paroxysm of creepy panic caught him and made him fall on his knees and grasp his head with his hands, and yell something about a lethal wind. Strange patterns of scars appeared on his body, they disappeared after Schuldig had carried him inside the Palace.

Whatever had possessed him was contained within the rusty metal fence surrounding the Palace and the garden around it.

After the first fit Brad locked himself in his room for a week.

Schuldig was going crazy from worry. He was rushing about the house and blitzing the ancient furniture in unoccupied rooms. From time to time he came up to the locked door, shouted at Crawford because the American had closed his mind, and threatened to kick the door open. Every time Brad's quiet voice stopped him and asked to calm down. The hell yes!

When Crawford left his room at last the German couldn't make up his mind whether to kill the boss at once or to pull into their bedroom.

After a night of hungry sex Crawford confessed that he was losing his sanity.

It sucked him from the inside. It took his strength. It had existed in the Palace; its effect on his family had been excruciating for many generations. Crawford was engaged to death from the very birth. SZ's slavery only postponed the "wedding".

Schuldig stopped at the closed gate. He sat in the car for a moment and then went out, leaving the door open.

The sky over the Palace was different. Steel-grey on clear days and bloody-red in bad weather. Now it was covered with poison. Black clouds scratched the flesh so that the sky was ready to cry again.

The telepath pushed the gate that opened with a rustle, freeing the way. Schuldig came back to the car and drove it inside. He left the BMW at the muddy pavement near the house. Next to his car, Crawford's Porsche was having a rest.

He had to come back and close the gate. Out of habit, not for security's sake. Nobody dared to enter the Palace. It existed in some other damned world.

'From a spy action movie to a horror flick' was Schwarz's motto today.

The sound of steps was heard in the silence of the garden.

Schuldig liked such desolation. Withered naked trees looked like death camp prisoners. The landscape was surely from the mad pictures by Goya.

Not the best place for walks. But Brad had no choice. He couldn't go out. That's why he took his walks in the garden, delighted at the way how the surroundings mimicked his inner world.

Schuldig always accompanied him. His lover's useless care annoyed Brad in the beginning. He was angry at his helplessness and his feelings. And at the telepath's feelings as well.

Crawford used to ask his lover to abandon him, so that he could rot with the Palace. Schuldig told him to fuck off.

So what that he was losing his strength? He wouldn't yield to a haunted house. Schuldig ignored the constant fatigue. Taking care of Brad and things required to keep the house in minimum order took most of his time.

Shit, he had forgotten to buy some food.

"Brad, it's me!" Schuldig yelled rather light-heartedly, closing the door with a bang.

He pulled himself together and ran upstairs.

Quiet jazz was playing. The door to the library was half-open, leaving a pattern of light on the floor. For economy they occupied only a few rooms – the bedroom, the library (that served as an office), the kitchen and the parlor from time to time. The rest of the Palace smelled of dust and bad memories.

Crawford was sitting in the armchair with his hands hiding his face. A half-empty bottle of whiskey was standing on the floor next to him. The light from the floor-lamp was falling on his lap. Sylvian's velvet voice was singing about nostalgia.

"Why have you been drinking again? Couldn't wait for me?" The telepath's heart ached.

The American mumbled something incoherent. Schuldig kneeled beside the armchair. He took Brad's hands in his.

"What happened lieber? Did you have a fit again?"

Crawford shook his head. He seemed too old in the darkness. But still beautiful. Brad pressed Schuldig to himself.

A familiar wave overwhelmed the German – the aroma of whiskey and that special subtle smell that belonged only to Brad. Schuldig felt the heat emanating from him. The American kissed his lover's hair and moaned.

It was unbearable. Schuldig was angry at the world that made his special person suffer so much.

"You're going to be all right, lieber, I promise. I'll exorcize your demons. You'll leave this cursed place and we'll travel to Vienna. You promised to take me to Vienna. And Fujimiya will come with us as a porter."

Crawford chuckled quietly. Schuldig smiled back.

"Let's go to bed. Tomorrow I want you to bring Ran here."

The American stood up, his hands never leaving Schuldig's.

TBC


	2. 2

Title: The Bridge of Sighs

Author: lady xenax

Pairing: Crawford/Schuldig/Ran

Summary: Post-Gluhen. Schwarz hide in the old Palace that used to belong to the Crawford family. Oracle is losing his mind, and the German gets a new power

Rating: R

Genre: horror

Warning: AU, Gluhen spoilers

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, though I wouldn't mind having Crawford at my full disposal… for a week at least

Note: Thanks for the reviews. And I hope that you'll continue to read this story. As for the questions if it's gonna be a love triangle… Nope.

**2**

"I hoped our meeting was no more than a hallucination," Aya said, staring at the ceiling.

"You shouldn't have. I'm very real." Schuldig entered the ward and stopped by the window. "You're slacking, pretender."

"Hn…"

"Such an expressive answer!"

Fujimiya looked much better, not a living dead like yesterday but just a victim of starvation. The tray with the hospital food stood at the bedside table.

"One can easily kick the bucket after eating this chow," Schuldig said, sniffing suspiciously.

"I just love your manner of speaking."

"Get ready, they're checking you out."

Ran shrugged and got up from the bed. He moved slowly after narcotics and his wound still troubled him. Staggering he took a few steps and grabbed Schuldig's arm so as not to fall.

"I brought some new clothes for you," the German said unusually serious. "Are you able to cope with it by yourself?"

"Yes..." Ran breathed out.

Fujimiya declined his help. Such sloth irritated Schuldig but he said nothing and kept on watching.

"Stop staring at me."

"You wish."

Schuldig couldn't miss the chance of admiring the Japanese's slender body. Ran hadn't lost his poisonous grace, but his hands were shaking.

Ran kept silent during all the way from the hospital to the Palace. He allowed the German to walk him back to the car. He only stared into space, obeying Schuldig's orders apathetically.

The telepath peeped into the thoughts of the ex-Weiss. He didn't find anything new: the heavy load of guilt and the decision to carry his cross till the end. And the guy was angry at him because Schuldig saved him from dying.

Did you really want to die?

Yes.

I can't help you with it. Schuldig looked into Ran's eyes. Crawford needs you. He hasn't told me what for. He's so bad that I'd sell my soul for him to get better.

I had no idea that such a person like you could love anybody.

Ran groaned, clutching the first thing nearby – the German's knee. The telepath felt the wave of pain overwhelming Fujimiya now.

"Calm down," Schuldig said, touching Ran's back.

The Japanese looked at him.

"Now move your ass and open the gate."

"You mustn't exploit sick people," Ran snarled. His eyes warmed up a little.

"My kindness will kill me someday," the German grunted and got out of the car.

The air again smelled of rain. Enough! Schuldig thought. Crawford needed to work as a forecaster any way.

Aya perceived everything that was happening to him through a prism of light pain and an apathetic sense of purpose. He didn't ask himself where the hatred to the man who had tried to kill him more than once had gone.

He realized that it was different now.

"Wait for me here, I'll close the gate" Schuldig told him.

Aya nodded, following him with his gaze. Certain clumsiness appeared in the redheaded German's walk, it hadn't been so noticeable before. Could the house influence him in such a way?

He winced. During his entire life Aya often came across unusual things; such as Schuldig's telepathy or unnatural experiments of SZ.

But he had never been enveloped in such a fearsome aura like that which the Palace was emanating. Alien to a human being. Aya was ready to run away, so as not to hear the voices whispering to him about angels with dark wings.

"Schuldig!" Aya screamed, hoping the telepath would make the voices disappear.

The German was coming up to him slowly, whistling some melody and holding his hands in his pockets.

"Help me," The Japanese said, blushing. He didn't want to beg his ex-enemy. "What is this place?"

"They don't exist. The voices are not real."

Schuldig pushed him to the front door. The telepath's touch muffled the whisper of strange voices. So, this was how the German always felt…

"Sometimes," Schuldig whispered in his ear. "Sorry for the mess. You know I can't keep such a monster in order all by myself."

The floor was divided into black and whites squares. Half the lamps on the huge crystal chandelier had burned out. Dusty mirrors reflected images from another reality. Creepy cold reigned, and the sounds of music seemed to be resonating all over the place.

They were going up marble stairs covered with the remnants of a dirty red carpet.

"It was the whim of the Palace creator's wife," Schuldig remarked matter-of-factly.

Dust covered glass plafonds in a thick layer that made the light ghostly. Aya felt like he was suffocating from the lack of fresh air.

"It will be gone soon," the telepath stood on the second floor. "You'll get used to dust and voices. But the fear will remain."

"Do you mean that I'll stay with you for a long time?"

"Do you have somebody else waiting for you? Your beloved forgot about you, didn't he? How tragic…" Schuldig drawled mockingly and motioned for Aya to follow him. "Again he's listening to _Brilliant Trees_. It's bad."

"Who?"

"Crawford."

"Is he here?"

"Where else he should be if not in his family Palace?" Schuldig grinned, opening the door to the library.

Aya didn't have the lucky chance to face Schwarz on that fatal night when they helped Weiss, having destroyed the Rozenkreuz threesome. He saw only the telekinetic kid who stopped the bullet meant for himself.

He was too busy then.

No, he wouldn't remember him. Ever.

The light from the fireplace made Crawford's hair look like melted silver. Oracle was sitting in the armchair and looking at him with strange greed. The American's specs had slipped to the bridge of his nose, it was funny. A scar cut across his forehead from his right temple to the brow.

A love-token from Berger, the telepath explained.

Crawford's fingers were holding an empty glass. A blue shirt and white trousers suited him better than his working gear, a vanilla-colored suit.

"Glad to see you safe and sound, Ran," the American nodded by way of greeting.

"This is your room. My and Brad's bedroom is next to it. If you hear suspicious noises…" Schuldig winked, "don't worry. I can be indiscreet sometimes."

"I don't want to know." Aya winced, sitting on a king-sized bed.

Without paying attention to the aching wound he leaned back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling, tracing the pattern with his gaze. Endless blue, green, black spirals intertwined with each other, forming a puzzle.

"You'll get a headache if you look at the picture too long. Don't complain." Schuldig turned around. "Supper is at seven. Till then you'd better stay here."

Aya looked at the old clock on the opposite wall. Two hours to think about his current predicament.

When he felt the first sting of pain, when that boy stabbed him, Aya was relieved for a moment. He'd gotten the chance to end everything at once, to go away, leaving a bloody trace behind.

He would find out… he would… Was the one-eyed killer right?

Did nothing make sense? His fight, his sins.

Here was he, questioning God.

Why?

He'd had the chance to stop being a killer many times before. But he never used it. One sins washed another. Should he become a Catholic then?

He was tired. To say himself for the hundredth time already – change, get rid of the old way of thinking, become a new person with old experience. Was it easy?

He thought America would help him change. No luck.

Aya didn't want to think about himself any more. It was his bad habit to deny the obvious. Instead of analyzing his own mind he began to think about Schwarz. Tiredly and without any hate. They weren't worth it. They were just people, after all.

He used to think about them as monsters. Not because of their abilities, though even they could frighten him. The actions of that foursome didn't obey the laws of ordinary logic, as if their way of thinking differed so much from humans that it could belong not just to monsters but demons with beautiful (to a human's standards) faces.

Aya had never thought about such things earlier. The most important things in his life were his sister and Weiss. All the rest seemed faceless dolls.

Would he dare to let somebody else into his world?

Speaking about logic. What the hell did Crawford need him for?

The American was evidently possessed. To be in the same room with him was unpleasant. How could the telepath stand it? They loved each other surely.

The German protected Crawford. From what? Evil spirits?

Aya grinned, so ridiculous this assumption was.

But still, what did the Palace hide?


End file.
